“Hold him, don’t let him move.”
He blinked. Meds held his limbs in a hurtful grip. He lifted his head. “Let go. I’m awake. I want to sit up.”
They looked foolish, with a dropping of their ears. After they had mulled it over they let him go and one at his side got a hand beneath his back and one and another helped him sit up, holding him.
“Are you through?” Thorn said.
“We’re through,” one said. They rarely spoke to him at all. “We’ll put you to bed awhile.”
“I’m going home.” Thorn gave a sudden heave and landed with his feet on the floor. His feet were numb, but his knees held. The med reached and he stopped that reach with a backhand lift of his arm, slow-motion, gentle warning. The med took the warning when his stare followed the turn he made, and backed off.
“Sagot,” someone said, “Sagot, get in here fast.”
Thorn waited then, if Sagot was coming. He remembered he was naked. “I want my clothes.” A med gave him his kilt, and he took it and worked with numb fingers and diminished balance to put it on.
A door opened. He looked up at Sagot. “Sagot,” he said; he was very careful to be polite. Duun would hit him if he was rude to the meds, and he was desperate. He made his voice ever so calm and courteous, and stood as easily as he could. “Sagot, they think I ought to go to bed here and I’d much rather go to my own and sleep. Please get me home, Sagot.”
Sagot looked at him with her thin mouth all taut. A long while she stood there. “All right,” Sagot said. “Call his guard and call Duun and tell him we’re coming back.” Sagot came and took Thorn’s arm, wound her thin, fragile forearm about his and locked both her hands on his, and he walked with her, out of that room.
“We’ll wait here a moment,” she said in the other room; and stood there with him, holding to his arm. In a moment the door opened and the guard was there who walked with him everywhere. Ogot was his name. He said little, but he was a pleasant man; he was Duun’s, and if Ogot had taken him to this place and never told him, perhaps Ogot had not known half as much as Sagot had. Ogot looked worried to see him, and Thorn felt ashamed to be so helpless.
“It’s all right,” Sagot said, “they’ve just given him a little sedative; we’ll walk slowly. The boy wants to go home now. Come on, Thorn.”
He was not in his bed, he was lying on cushions on the riser that touched the main room wall, the windows showed branches lashing in the rain, glass spotted and distorted with water. The audio played thunder and rain-sound. Lightning flashed. The air-conditioning wafted moist, cool air and the smell of woods in rain. He lay against the cushions in the room he knew (but the walls always changed) and blinked. He knew those trees, the one that bent, the crooked limb, the rocks, the way one could climb-
“Here.” Duun sat down on the riser and took a cup and poured him tea. “It’s got aghos in it, don’t spit it: you could use the calories.”
He took it in one hand and sipped at it. The spice was sickly sweet, but it tasted better than his mouth did. He blinked at Duun. His neck was stiff; he had been sleeping wrong.
“That’s good,” Duun said. “I moved you in here.”
“Carried me?” He remembered bed; remembered Duun rousing him once and making him drink.
“I still can.”
“Duun, they-”
“Hush.”
Thorn caught his breath. So he had been about to embarrass himself. (You have a need, Thorn.) He felt drained and placid now after the storm before. The illusory rain spattered the windows. “That’s Sheon, isn’t it?”
“I saved that image. I had it done about a year ago. I thought I’d use it someday.”
(Some special day. Today? Is it a gift? To make up for the other thing?)
“More tea?” Come on. I want you to wake up now. We’re going to have a round in the gym this afternoon.”